


Mountains, Field, Leaves

by seapotato



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: #autumnboiz, A little mystery, Fairy Tale Elements, Getting Together, It's Soft, M/M, Magic Reveal, Mini case fic, Non-Graphic Violence, Prompt writing, Season/Series 05, a little danger, a little wink wink, hunting trip as decoy plot, land management, more Feelings than anticipated, more plot than anticipated, nature flirting, smoochy smooch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23983957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seapotato/pseuds/seapotato
Summary: It started, as many terrible things had, with Merlin cleaning.Arthur had decided months ago that he wanted to go on an extended hunting trip, a hunting soiree, which was the poshest and most absurd thing Merlin had ever heard. He'd felt that the hunting in Camelot had become too prescribed, too easy, that it wasn't sporting enough. Arthur was a good hunter in the way that he was good at everything: exceedingly physically competent, fair, and surprisingly open to criticism. It was infuriating.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 145





	Mountains, Field, Leaves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rinja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinja/gifts).



> Prompt writing for three lovely pictures: blue mountains, a golden field on a cloudy day, and some stirred up autumn leaves

It started, as many terrible things had, with Merlin cleaning.

Arthur had decided months ago that he wanted to go on an extended hunting trip, a hunting _soiree_ , which was the poshest and most absurd thing Merlin had ever heard. He'd felt that the hunting in Camelot had become too prescribed, too easy, that it wasn't sporting enough. Arthur was a good hunter in the way that he was good at everything: exceedingly physically competent, fair, and surprisingly open to criticism. It was infuriating.

When Arthur had asked Merlin his opinion on the hunting in Camelot, Merlin had been distracted by polishing a spare chainmail shirt, trying to get all the links perfectly bright. He let himself ramble that it looked like the deer Arthur had been taking recently hardly put up a chase; that the way Camelot stocked the hunting grounds didn't really compare to how a healthy forest would be on its own; and that he'd heard once the druids regulated hunting among their community to actually benefit the forest.

Arthur had listened to him.

He spent the next week with the gamekeepers scouting Camelot's forests, marking the effects of stocking too many of one animal and not enough of another. He'd come back at the end of it all and told Merlin the hunting trip was off but he better pack his things for at least a _fortnight_ because they were going to _find some druids_ so Arthur could learn about land management, of all things.

Merlin complained all through packing in Arthur's room.

“Arthur, it's mid-autumn! The nights are nearly freezing! The ground is soggy, making camp will be a disaster every night. Besides, who knows how long it'll take to find not only the druids but the _right_ druids. Did you even know that there are different communities, that they aren't all a uniform culture? Isn't this someone else's job anyway?”

Arthur ignored him until he ran out of things to say and when his silence made Merlin anxious enough he demanded, “Well?!” even though he knew he would regret it.

Arthur looked into the fireplace and said, “The forest isn't mine, it belongs to all the people of Camelot, present and future. It's part of our legacy, Merlin, the legacy of my reign as king. If I don't care for it properly now, what example will that set for an heir? What will become of the land we love in a hundred years or more?”

He was very solemn and his eyes were bright and earnest in the firelight. Merlin's brain got a bit stuck on Arthur saying _our legacy_ , the words ringing through him and striking like pebbles of a cart wheel, like hammer on metal. It was very inconvenient to have one of those derailing he-is-my-destiny moments in the middle of trying to win an argument. Merlin vehemently shoved another pair of trousers into a bag and gave up.

So they left, with a total of two measly knights. Not even any of the round table knights because Arthur wanted them in Camelot in case anything happened while he was gone.

They traveled on horseback and moved quickly with only the four of them. The weather blew in fog banks and layered clouds, thunderstorms and brilliant sunshine by turns, the sky clear and littered with constellations on sharply cold nights. Merlin watched the land turn golden with autumn as they moved swiftly north.

The camping and traveling were miserable but in truth Merlin always loved the fields and forests, the rivers and the mountains gone blue with distance. He also liked sharing a tent with Arthur because he liked having him so close. Merlin could hear him breathing at night, could make sure he was alive and well, could be near enough to handle anything that might try to go after Arthur. So while he complained as often as usual and could barely use his magic with Arthur around all the time, having him around _all the time_ wasn't that bad. There had been little evidence of druids so far, though Merlin could sense them somewhere near, or nearish, and subtly tried to direct Arthur.

After a week and a half of travel they came upon a small village with a tavern, two rooms unoccupied on the second floor. Merlin was all for collapsing somewhere dry and warm, even if it was the floor, but Arthur was somehow invigorated by the crisp air. His cheeks glowed with it and it was the happiest Merlin had seen him in months.

Arthur was born to be king, he was made for it, but in quieter moments Merlin saw that Arthur could be made for more than what fate cast him as.

Arthur drinking from a river then flicking water at Merlin with a sly grin.

Arthur with stray leaves caught in his hair that Merlin brushed out, feeling sickeningly fond.

Arthur smugly telling Merlin the names of all the trees as if Merlin didn't know them better.

There was a part of Arthur just as connected to the world as Merlin's magic, separate from war and feuds and the burden of correcting a lineage of power and prejudice drowning what was right. Merlin saw that Arthur could be happy with a different life, and that Merlin could be part of that happiness, too, in a simpler way, a less bloody one.

It was all a bit much on top of being exhausted from constantly reaching out to feel for the druids without being noticed by them.

Arthur wasn't exhausted at all. He directed Merlin and the knights to a table and after he ordered mead and whatever dinner was on the burner with manners that were embarrassingly civil and painfully high-bred in a place like this, he immediately asked about the druids.

Their server was an older woman, and Merlin thought she might own the tavern. How fortunate that Arthur and his companions had come when they did—why, the druids regularly passed through their village for a spot of trade. A few had been by just a day ago. There was a path they traveled often. If the young sires would like, she could show it to them in the morning. The druids were easily spooked, so they should leave their horses behind. She could stable them for the day at a discount. Arthur agreed while Merlin eyed her suspiciously over his bowl of stew. She was right that the druids had been here recently but it all seemed too good to be true.

In the morning she met them outside of the tavern and they walked for half an hour into the woods as she told them that if they followed the path they would come upon a small druid encampment by nightfall. They reached an overgrown track wide enough for two across, winding through the trees, marked with a rotting piece of wood that may have been a sign post at some point. She bid them goodbye and good luck and even though Merlin felt that there was at least one druid somewhere up ahead, he couldn't fight down his unease. Arthur took to the path cheerfully, the knights falling in behind him as Merlin stared after the woman. She moved efficiently and carefully through the forest and was soon gone from sight.

“Come on, Merlin, hurry up,” Arthur called back to him, “Even you can't get lost following a path like this.”

The first hour of walking was pleasant. Birdsong ricocheted around the trees and Merlin was quiet, lost in it. Arthur hummed snatches of a folk song from the tavern last night and didn't say much either. The knights were further back, chatting to each other softly. The second hour Arthur got bored and tried to bait Merlin into a pointless argument about standardizing cabbage sizes in the markets when Merlin said, “Left overhand swing, half step advance.”

Arthur paused, frowned and said, “Right parry, quarter turn. Are you left-handed or only using it for the swing?”

Merlin smiled. “You'll just have to find out, won't you?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes and got that intense strategy look that made Merlin's stomach flutter and spine tingle.

They traded moves back and forth, easily pressing or giving an advantage to keep the bout going, until Arthur stopped suddenly and jogged ahead. He picked something up and walked back to show it to Merlin. It was small and shiny, a bit oblong, lustrous grey-blue like a pearl but heavy like a stone.

“What is it?” Merlin asked, taking it and rolling it between his fingers.

Arthur shrugged. “Perhaps the druids dropped it. We might gain their favor if we return it.”

Merlin doubted this—either the druids didn't drop things, or they did on purpose and not much would be gained by bringing it back. He passed it back to Arthur who tucked it into a small pouch on his belt.

They found more of the pearl-like stones as they walked. It wasn't until the late afternoon that Merlin realized something was very wrong. Arthur had started walking faster, searching the ground for the pearls, fervent and entirely too focused. Merlin had been trying to get him to slow down when he noticed two things: there had been crows cawing for hours in the background of the forest, following them, and the knights were—

“Arthur, stop!” Merlin panted, running up to where Arthur crouched down on the path to pick up yet another pearl. “The knights are gone!”

This seemed to jerk him out of whatever trance he was in and Merlin felt a surge of hope. It drained quickly, though, when Arthur looked fuzzily past him, then back at the pearl.

“They'll catch up,” Arthur said, voice dull and unconcerned as he moved away, “don't worry.”

A crow shrieked overhead and something clicked into place. The crows, following them, must be dropping the pearls. They, or whoever controlled them, wanted... _something_. It wasn't the work of the druids. It was a few hours until dusk. If they didn't come upon the druid camp soon (which, to Merlin's confusion, still felt close, so what was going _on_ ) they'd be stuck out here with that something. Merlin swore under his breath, spared a final thought to the knights, and chased after Arthur.

What it was became clear ten minutes later when Arthur found the last pearl and a cottage appeared in front of them along with the nauseating smell of too many things cooking—sugar, meat, bread, boiled vegetables.

Arthur clutched the bag of pearls in his hand and dreamily started to move towards the cottage.

“Don't! It's enchanted!” Merlin said, as if stating the obvious would be any help right now. He grabbed Arthur's arm and pulled. Arthur tried to break away but Merlin held on and yanked him back and the pearls spilled everywhere.

Arthur immediately tried to gather them all up again while Merlin took his distraction to breathe out a spell. The pearls smoked as they melted into a black sludge.

“No!” Arthur cried, then clutched at his head and and shouted.

“Arthur, what—”

“Well, that wasn't very nice,” said a voice behind Merlin. He turned just in time to see the old woman from the inn, a _rolling pin?_ raised high over her head. He got out half a spell before everything went dark.

Arthur and Merlin woke, bound, in a drafty, empty pantry in the witch's cottage. They learned that:

  1. She was holding the two poor knights elsewhere, fattening them up as quickly as possible because,

  2. She planned to eat the knights for supper.

  3. This would last her for awhile because apparently she only needed to eat once every few weeks (“Like a snake?” Merlin had asked, genuinely curious for a moment until Arthur kicked him), so,

  4. She would be tending Merlin and Arthur like actual calves for the slaughter until her next meal, which for now meant rubbing rosemary in their hair and throwing salt all over them.




“I cannot believe you got us _kidnapped_ ,” Merlin said, shoving Arthur as best he could with his wrists, knees, and ankles all tied.

“I didn't _get us_ kidnapped, Merlin. The kidnapper shouldn't be kidnapping! Besides, I was definitely enchanted! And watch your elbows,” Arthur said and shoved him back. Merlin most certainly did not watch his elbows, he jammed them into Arthur's ribs as he tipped over with a thud onto the dusty, warped floorboards. His head hurt. He sneezed a cloud of dust up at Arthur's face, who shoved him a bit in the thigh with his foot then let his legs rest on top of Merlin's, apparently as exhausted with the whole situation as Merlin was. Merlin wiggled a bit to try to sit up again but Arthur's stupidly muscular calves kept him pinned down.

“You're bloody heavy, you know,” Merlin said, without much force behind it.

They had spent several hours locked in the pantry with only a weak stream of dusk-laden sunlight through a tiny window near the ceiling. Arthur grunted at him but didn't move. Merlin shifted onto his back, Arthur's legs slung across his shins. He closed his eyes and thought about how they got here.

The pearls must be used to control people into coming to the cottage. She had a pack of crows that helped her. She ate people. There was a druid here somewhere, likely unconscious, because Merlin could feel the press of them on his mind, but wasn't able to connect. They had one, maybe two hours until the knights were made into stew or a pot pie or some other food that would now be ruined for him. There was a clumsy spell that had been woven into the ropes binding them—it had been intended to limit his magic. Merlin had broken the spell easily without Arthur noticing but anything else would be too obvious. He couldn't do magic with Arthur sitting right there.

Merlin felt Arthur's legs shift. “Merlin,” Arthur said suddenly, “If you have the opportunity, run.”

Merlin lifted his head up to look at him. “What?”

“I just meant, if there were an opportunity for you to get out, you should.”

Merlin shoved Arthur's legs off of him and sat up fully. “Absolutely not.”

“That's an order,” Arthur said, his jaw set.

“Yeah, okay, no.” Why was Arthur saying that? It's not like—“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing!”

“You are, you have that look about you, like you're planning something heroic.”

“I am not!”

The door swung open and the witch stood with a knife held in her hand and an excited smile on her face. “I changed my mind,” she said, “I'm going to cook you up nicely first—your knights aren't nearly as seasoned.”

Merlin barely had a chance to wonder what the hell she meant by seasoned, why were he and Arthur naturally pre-seasoned, when Arthur kicked him hard, rolling him out of the way as the witch reached for him, then kicked the witch in the knees.

“Now, now,” she crooned, entirely unfazed and grabbing at Arthur's ankle with a long-fingered grip, “none of that.”

“Merlin! Go!” The door was wide open. Arthur thrashed and threw the witch off balance, then tried to bash her on the head with his clenched hands.

“How do I—I'm still tied up, too, you know!” He tried to squirm back over to where Arthur and the witch were tussling. Arthur put up an impressive fight for someone who was bound hand and foot.

Merlin saw the moment the witch lost patience, her face twisted with fury. She raised her knife as she had the rolling pin and he thought _No,no,no—_ and flung his magic out, slammed her against the wall. The knife clattered to the ground and Merlin grabbed it with his magic and slid it into her chest. Through his connection with the knife he knew she was dead. The knife dropped and he wanted to vomit.

“You—what—,” Arthur was panting and his eyes were wide.

Merlin waved his hands and the ropes fell off both of them.

They stared at each other, Arthur open-mouthed and Merlin nearly as stunned. Merlin was saved from having to answer when the pantry, the whole house, started shaking. Without the witch's magic, it was falling apart.

“Come on, we've got to go!” Merlin said, swallowing his fear and turning away from Arthur. There was no explaining this away. Either Arthur would hate him or he wouldn't. He'd burn him on a pyre or he'd banish him or he'd—no, no, they had to get out. “We've got to get the knights. There's a druid here, a child I think, they need help.”

Arthur grabbed his shoulders and spun him around. His face was—it wasn't what Merlin expected. Hate, he expected. Fury. Disgust. Betrayal. Instead Arthur looked...there was no other way to describe it: he looked heartbroken.

“I—” Merlin said then stopped. His eyes were hot. His throat closed up.

“All this time,” Arthur said, his eyes searching Merlin's face, his voice as shaky as the cottage, “and you never—I thought that you—that we—” He dropped his eyes and his grip went loose on Merlin's shoulders.

 _Ah_. Merlin was definitely crying now but he also understood. He reached up, slowly, waiting for Arthur to flinch. He didn't. Merlin cupped Arthur's face, tilted his head up, smoothed his thumbs over Arthur's cheekbones. “Arthur, look at me,” Merlin said and when he did Merlin kissed him. It was so simple, and so easy, finally, to do this. Merlin always thought it would be like crossing a border, a sharp demarcation, but it was more like the slow transition from one landscape to another, a space of overlapping territories.

He pulled away after a moment and looked right at Arthur when he said, “It's for you. It's always been for you. It always will be.” He hoped Arthur understood what he meant, that he meant his magic but also himself, that he needed Arthur to trust him and that he trusted Arthur in return and that if ever the world burned and not a soul stood by Arthur, Merlin would be there, in the end, with him, never anywhere else.

Arthur looked a bit dazed but nodded, his eyes clearing. It wasn't over—Merlin knew that Arthur would asked too many questions, demand even more, and that both of them would probably cry a lot. Then part of the ceiling caved in and Arthur said “Time to go!” reeled Merlin in by the neck, kissed him soundly a little off center, grabbed his hand and ran.

**\---**

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. One of my favorite parts in Once and Future King is when young kid Arthur and his adopted brother Kay go to Morgana's enchanted food castle with Robin H(w)ood to rescue some people who have been captured. She's got pillars made of pork and butter everywhere and everything is just Too Much. When Arthur gets caught she's like "isn't this just so delectable, don't you want to stay" and Arthur is like no thank you m'am, this is disturbing and there are too many food smells, I'll be taking these prisoners and leaving, bye. 
> 
> That+Hansel and Gretel+Merlin(flirtTV)=this fic
> 
> 2\. Rin asked me who the knights were who had to tag along and get kidnapped and stuffed with food, which is one of my favorite questions I've ever been asked about a piece of writing. Well, here you go.
> 
> Epilogue:
> 
> There's one knight in the show that looks like an off brand Leon, so him—we'll call him Olen. The second knight is a random hottie knight that somehow no one ever noticed, poor thing. They are excited because they think this journey is their big break, that they are going on an exciting adventure with King Arthur himself and that scrawny weird guy he always keeps around for some reason. But sadly Arthur and Merlin don't really notice them at all for the entire trip, even after Arthur and Merlin rescue them (especially so, they always wander off alone for hours or are talking quietly by the fire or going to sleep early and not hanging out with Olen and hottie knight at all). 
> 
> When they get back to Camelot everyone keeps thinking that it's Leon who went and gained a little weight from the witch's cottage, and eventually even Leon himself thinks it was him who went with Arthur and Merlin, and he would regale the court with the story. Olen never tries to correct him because who would question a knight of the round table? And no one believes random hottie because Leon forgets to include him in the story, so he is effectively invisible. 
> 
> Months pass like this and they've given up trying to convince anyone it was them on the adventure. One day hottie knight is like “Ugh, I should really get rid of this witch weight” and Olen is like “idk I think it looks nice *blush*” After that, Olen and hottie knight meet occasionally in a tavern in town to reassure each other that it all really happened. They grow old retelling the same story to each other. Arthur has died and Merlin gone and Gwen and Leon rule fairly. But the court is never the same. Everyone mourns the losses of the final battle with Mordred. Time slides forward and Gwen is elegant in her grief but no one else is. Except: Olen and hottie knight, who have each other and their story and don't give a single fuck about the royal bitches who forgot about them. They outlast everyone and die at the age of 109, completely happy. 
> 
> The End.


End file.
